


A Kind of Betrayal

by LawrenceKinden



Category: Original Work
Genre: Consensual, F/M, Girl - Freeform, Nonconsensual, Paddle, Pool, Sex, Spanking, Teenager, barebottom, mother - Freeform, spank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-22 01:27:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9575795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LawrenceKinden/pseuds/LawrenceKinden
Summary: [Story Contains Spanking]





	

Slim, slight, pert, and firm, the girl with deep auburn curls and vivid emerald eyes and pale cream skin sprinkled with freckles and kissed by a blush, stirred me the moment I saw her. Her mother was interested in renting the little bungalow at the back of my property, but all I could see was the girl's cotton shorts and sleeveless blouse and bare feet.

She was so beautiful I choked on it.

Her mother either didn't notice my distraction or didn't care.

I rented her the bungalow, and on a crisp morning at the end of summer, I helped them move in. I put together the girl's bed frame in the tiny second bedroom. When I was done, she hugged me impulsively. She was soft and supple, and I was shocked.

Her mother, a dowdy woman with plain features and dun hair, worked a lot. She was a secretary for a middling law firm, and her work kept her away from home. As a bachelor with a few well-received paperbacks under his belt, I could afford to work from home. So, though the girl was old enough to look after herself after school, her mother preferred she check in with me. 

Around three o'clock every schoolday afternoon, the girl came clattering through my house and into my study, her cheeks flushed, her smile wide, her outfit cute, to say hello and chat a bit. Sometimes we chatted about school, sometimes about friends, sometimes about boys. I told her teenage boys weren't worth it, and she laughed, like bells in the wind, and agreed.

"Besides, you're too young to be interested in boys," I said. "What are you, thirteen, maybe fourteen years old?"

"I'm sixteen years old, thank you very much," the girl said primly. 

The first weekend after they moved in, the girl asked me about the pool in the tree-shaded yard separating our houses. I told her I hadn't used it in years, but if she wanted to clean it out and skim the leaves and cover it when not in use, she was welcome to.

She smiled and nodded.

And so every weekend, though the autumn days grew chill, she could be found in a tiny two-piece floating or cavorting or sunning, which set my old heart bounding. Sometimes her mother would join her. Sometimes not. My study was at the back of the house with a window on the yard and the pool, and often I would watch from the shadowed shelter therein.

On what was to be the last warm day of autumn, I was mid-composition, when a shout tinged with frustration broke my focus. I turned my gaze through the window, where the girl was pulling herself from the pool, water sheeting from her shoulders, her skin glistening in the mid-afternoon sun. Her mother stood akimbo and stern. When the girl was on her feet, in front of her mother, eyebrows turned up at the inside, I caught a snatch of scolding and apology. Then the mother took the girl by the elbow and led her to the bungalow at the back of the property. The girl went, contrite. And just before they were swallowed by the shadows of the house, I witnessed the mother give her daughter on firm swat on her barely-clad bottom.

My heart stilled and my breath caught and I thought I might die from the shock of it.

The next morning, her mother tapped at my back door while I was reading the paper and sipping at tea. I let her in and we chatted for a bit about the changing seasons. I assured her I had no trouble shoveling the walks of snow, despite my age. She told me again how appreciative she was of me watching her daughter after school and I assured her it was no trouble. She told me she knew her daughter could be a bit of a handful, that she'd certainly been showing a lot of sass lately. Careful not to let on that I'd seen yesterday afternoon's corrective smack, I acknowledged raising children was challenging but that I thought she had a fine daughter.

Then the mother said something I'll never forget.

"Well, if she gives you any trouble, feel free to spank her naughty little bottom. She's certainly needed several these past few weeks."

I strove not to let on how those words stirred me. I chuckled gently and told her I was certain such a thing would never be necessary and she reiterated what a nice man she thought I was.

My thoughts belied her.

Autumn surrendered and winter settled in. Flouncy skirts and breezy blouses gave way to fashionable sweaters over skintight leggings. I often watched the girl's buttocks bounce in their second skin as she walked to the bus stop. When she came to check in with me after school, all aflush from the quick walk home, she'd drop her backpack just inside my office and sit on the little couch I used for late morning naps. Our chats grew longer. She was having trouble with biology but excelled in math and language. Some girls at school were giving her trouble over something about her freckles I didn't understand. And the boy she liked, it turned out, had a reputation for ruining those of girls.

"Why can't they just be as nice as you?" she asked plaintively.

And we both laughed.

One Friday afternoon, she came to my office downcast. It was rare her energy didn't radiate like the sun, so I asked her if she was upset and she sighed and nodded and told me she was to be spanked tonight. I raised an eyebrow in question and tried not to sound too eager as I said, "Surely not?"

She nodded. She told me that she knew her mother had given me permission to spank her, that she knew I must have heard her getting her bottom smacked countless times. I didn't correct her. I didn't tell her I'd only witnessed a single smack and had I known she was getting regular spankings I'd have found reason to lurk outside the bungalow as often as possible.

She showed me her latest biology quiz. A big red F adorned the top of the page.

I was properly sympathetic and offered to help.

Biology, I explained, was largely about memorizing vocabulary. As she was already acing her English and French classes, she should be acing Biology as well. With a bright smile and much enthusiasm, she agreed, and for the next two hours we studied the names of every muscle in the human body with a break for tea halfway through.

By the time I called it quits, the sun had set and snow drifted gently. Her enthusiasm evaporated. My heart ached for her, and I offered to escort her across the courtyard between our houses. She slung her backpack over one shoulder and took my arm and snuggled close for the short walk.

"Mom's going to be at work late," she said.

"So, no spanking?"

I'd meant my tone to be light, playful, gentle, but she sighed.

"Which means she'll spank me in the morning, before school. That's far worse."

She opened the back door of the bungalow, stepped inside, and turned to look at me. Snowflakes melted in her fiery hair.

"Maybe you could do it?"

I blinked at her, certain I was hallucinating.

"Spank me, I mean."

She blushed and looked at her toes. I stood in the snow and held very still.

"You're allowed, and it would mean mom and I wouldn't have to start tomorrow off badly. You know?"

I nodded, though I'm not sure how I managed it.

She looked up at me, cheeks crimson under her freckles.

"Are you sure?" My voice was dry and uncertain.

She nodded, took my hand, and pulled me into the house. She led me to her room, just as though I were the reluctant penitent, and bade me sit upon her bed. She pulled off her sweater, and I knew a moment of panic before I realized she wore a shirt beneath. It was a sleeveless, cut short, and I had to remind myself I'd seen more of her bare in the pool. She tossed the sweater aside carelessly and put her hands at the waist of her grey leggings, then she stopped and looked at me shyly.

I cleared my throat nervously, but she shook her head and pulled the leggings down to mid-thigh, revealing dark grey panties to match.

What is the difference between a pair of panties and a bikini bottom? Little really. The panties even cover more. But here, in her bedroom, a pool of light on a snowy winter's night, the curve of her mound encased in smooth, dark grey cotton, dimpled at the cleft, the difference became vast.

I stared.

She quickly draped herself over my lap, palms flat, tiptoes pointed, and I rested my hands upon her, one at the small of her back, one on her right thigh, just below the crease of her bottom.

I'm a childless bachelor, but I've five younger sisters and a bevy of nieces and nephews. I've spanked them all at one time or another. I know how it's done.

And yet.

I paused.

I paused to breathe, to feel the weight of her on my lap, the softness of her, the firmness of her. I paused to feel the rush of my blood, my heart, my loins. And just before the breath became awkward, just before she looked over her shoulder, I spanked her.

I spanked her quick and sharp as I had my little sisters when I'd been charged with their care. Under my hand, my wards' bottoms had turned quick pink, but the girl's panties were up, and it felt strange to lower them mid-spanking, so I spanked until I imagined her bottom was warm and pink. When I stopped, I was out of breath and so was she. She got to her feet and rubbed her bottom vigorously. She sneezed and rubbed away the tears that had welled but not spilled.

I signed her quiz to show an authority figure had seen it while she pulled her leggings up. Then she kissed my cheek and thanked me and I went back to my house, though the snow, where I lay awake in bed, staring at the shadows of the ceiling, unable to sleep.

In the morning, her mother tapped at my door, looking uncertain. I let her in and offered her tea and we talked briefly of the snow, but I knew she wanted to talk about last night.

"Did I overstep myself?" I asked.

She shook her head, looking relieved. "Not at all. In fact, I think she, kind of, liked being spanked by you. That is, she hates it when I spank her, and she... well she didn't enjoy it, you understand, but..."

I nodded.

"So, anyway, I just wanted to say thank you."

"Well, I'm happy to have helped."

I whiled away my day tapping at a couple of stories, one of which I thought might turn into something worthwhile. When the girl came home and bounded down the hall to my study, she held aloft a piece of paper marked with an A. She had retaken the quiz and, of course, aced it. She claimed it was all thanks to me and hugged me impulsively. I congratulated her with a smile.

"Though, I must admit, I thought about failing on purpose to get you to spank me again." She giggled.

I laughed gently. "Child, if you want me to spank you, all you have to do is ask."

Her grin turned shy. I'd been kidding with a shade of hoping. She clasped her hands behind her back and swiveled side to side, her thick winter skirt flaring gently.

"Well, it's kind of nice sometimes, you know? A warm bottom on a cold night is... I don't know how to say it. It's... I kind of like being a little naughty sometimes. And sometimes getting a spanking just because, or on purpose is... I guess... Last night it was so mom didn't have to spank me this morning, but... I guess it was a little... light."

Light? Was she saying I hadn't spanked her hard enough? I raised my eyebrow at her and she blushed.

"I'm just saying..."

"Well..."

She stood abruptly. "I have to go study."

"Do you want help?"

"No thanks." She picked up her bag and with a smile and a wave hurried out my back door, across our shared yard, and into her house.

And for the next few weeks, that's how it went. Winter settled in for the long haul. I shoveled the walks after every snowfall, swathed in layers. I assured my renters it was no trouble and that I could handle it, but I'm pretty sure that's how I managed to catch cold. And when the girl realized I was sicker than I let on, she went and told her mother and the two of them turned maternal on me. I was told they would shovel the walk and I wasn't to trouble myself or strain myself or make it any worse and they were serious, mister.

Which is how I found myself in bed one afternoon with the girl rattling in my kitchen making tea. She came in and put her cool hand on my feverish brow before putting tea and broth on a lap table. They were soothing to my throat and bruising to my ego, but I'd learned to keep my peace on objections lest I be subject to a tongue lashing.

I must have napped, because when I opened my eyes, the girl was just outside my bedroom, in the hall, shucking her jacket, snow on her knit cap. The coat and hat went on the pegs designed for the purpose, across the hall from my bedroom door. Next she pulled off her ratty blue hoodie, and I thought for certain she'd have on a shirt underneath. I was met instead with an emerald green bra of shiny satin. Her tummy was smooth and flat, and as she turned to hang the hoodie on another peg, I saw her back was patterned with freckles. She slid her old grey sweatpants down and let them drop to her feet, showing off matching green panties, then sat on the little bench beneath the coat pegs to peel off her socks, unclip her bra, and slide off her panties. All of this she folded neatly and stacked on the bench before stretching her arms high overhead and shivering, showing off her pale pert breasts and their hard pink nipples, her thick, damp, copper curls hiding her mons venus, and her lithe, nubile elfishness.

I was certain in that moment I'd been cured of my cold.

She bent to reach into a gym bag underneath the little bench, pulled out a simple, sleeveless nightgown, and pulled it over her head, shimmying until it fell to midthigh. Then she padded into my bedroom, from the bright light of the hallway to the indirect shadows. I closed my eyes. She sat on the edge of my bed and put her cool hand on my forehead.

I blinked up at her, heart aflutter, loins astir.

She looked down at me. "Are you awake?"

"Hmm?"

"I shoveled the walk," she said. "It's harder work than I thought. Do you mind if I use your shower?"

"No," I said, doing my best to sound as though I'd just woken up. "Go right ahead."

She smiled. "Thanks. Mom's working late tonight. She said I should sleep on your couch in case you need anything. I already brought over extra blankets and pillows."

"All right then."

She went into the bathroom next door and turned on the shower. The sound lulled me even as the thought of her naked in my shower thrilled me.

When I woke, about midnight, I was parched. I shuffled to the kitchen for a glass of water. On my way back, I peeked into my study and found the girl curled upon my couch, snuggled in a thick comforter, her hair tossed over the arm of the couch to cascade like a firey waterfall in the dark. I wanted to touch her, to caress her gentle face, to kiss her pixie nose, to slip my hands under that thick comforter and run them over her taught skin, her pink nipples, to tangle my fingers in the curls hiding her mons, spank her perfect, pert bottom, to hear her squeal...

I hurried away, back to my bedroom, and the haste cost me my breath. I coughed, and the first turned to a fit. Within moments she was there, she flicked on the light and plied me with a glass of water and a gentle hand rubbing my back. I drank the water and assured her I was fine, even as I chided myself for the thoughts that had brought the fit. I stared at my lap, and couldn't help but notice her bare thigh against mine, her short nightshirt scrunched up against her waist.

"Do you need anything?"

I bit my tongue on my lecherous thoughts. "No, I'm fine, thanks." I handed her the glass. She stood, and as she did, I noticed her nightshirt was tucked awkwardly up under itself, showing off her pert bottom. Without thinking, I reached out and tugged it down.

"Oh!"

I blushed. "Sorry, it was folded up."

"Oh." She smoothed a hand over her bottom.

"Sorry," I said again.

"No, that's all right. I don't mind." She giggled. "It's not like you haven't seen my bare bottom before."

"I recall."

"Well, after that, smoothing out my nightdress is... I never told you how much I appreciated that. Mom and I got along a lot better for a while."

"Only for a while?"

"Well... I got into some trouble at school a few weeks ago. Remember that boy I was telling you about?"

"Johnathan?"

"No, the other one."

"Brandon?"

She blushed and looked at her feet and toed the floor. "No, the other other one."

"Um, Randal?"

"Right. Him. Well, he and I got caught kissing under the bleachers. I got detention. Mom was pretty mad. She had me early, you know? And, well..."

"She spanked you?" I guessed.

The girl shook her head. "That's just it. She didn't. She grounded me instead." She sighed.

"And that's worse?"

She nodded. "I don't like it when she's mad at me."

"I see."

Then she looked up at me, eyes shy. "I know you're not feeling very well right now, but, maybe, could you..."

I shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't like the idea of spanking you for kissing a boy. I kissed girls when I was your age, after all."

She shook her head. "It's not about that. I... I did it 'cause I knew we'd get caught. I did it because I knew mom would... I knew she wouldn't like it. I..."

"Ah."

"So... you know?"

I nodded. "Well, I'm always happy to lend a hand."

She giggled.

"But remember how last time you told me my spanking was a little light?"

She swallowed hard and nodded. "You should spank me like I deserve it."

She set the glass on my nightstand and crawled over my lap. She pulled her nightdress up in back before settling on my lap. Her warmth though my boxers stirred me hard. I pushed her nightdress up a little further and rested my left hand on her waist, just above her left hip. Her skin against mine was like fire and light, honey and cream. But I didn't linger on it. I patted her bottom once, twice, just to get the feel of it, then I spanked her.

She yelped from the first. I wasn't harsh with her, but I was most definitely thorough. When her legs kicked and nearly bucked her off my lap, I trapped them with my right leg against the bed. When her hand came back to protect her bottom, I gripped her wrist. I held her fast and spanked her naked bottom until it was shining red, like the moon on the horizon early of an evening. She was sobbing when I released her and made no move to get off my lap. I rubbed her back under the night dress with one hand, and her bottom with the other and, after some time, she stopped crying and pushed to her feet.

Her freckled cheeks crimson, her emerald eyes bloodshot, she nevertheless smiled at me and kissed my cheek. I walked her to my office where she burrowed into her blankets on my couch.

A few days later, I was feeling much better, and my renters invited me over for a Winter Solstice luncheon. We exchanged gag gifts. I got her mother a pair of badly painted, little ceramic cats, and I got the girl a little wooden box that didn't close right. Her mother got me the ugliest tie I'd ever seen. The girl got me an old paddle ball, the rubber ball of which was deteriorating. She shot me a shy look as she gave it to me, and I couldn't help but wonder if she had ulterior motives.

A week or so later, the girl went back to school, and that Friday, she burst into my office after school and said, "Did you know it's still legal to paddle kids in high school?"

I laughed. "Did you learn from experience?"

She blushed. "No. My French teacher threatened the class today."

"Ah."

"It was," she shivered, "Kind of exciting, you know?"

I nodded. "I suppose so."

"I couldn't stop thinking about it all day. I'm all tingly with the thought." She smiled at me, wide and anticipatory, her cheeks rosy with the winter, her chest heaving with breath, her eyes shining like the rarest of emeralds.

I raised my eyebrows at her. "Yes?"

"Ohhh..." he groaned and scrunched her nose and stamped one cute little foot. "You know what I want, don't you?"

I chuckled. "Young lady, as I've said before, if you want a spanking, all you have to do is ask."

"Oh, please, I don't want to say it out loud..."

"Why not?"

"Because it's embarrassing." Her cheeks flushed hot.

I opened my desk drawer and withdrew the paddle. I'd removed the old rubber ball. She gasped, but under her gasp was a grin.

"I am, of course, quite fond of you," I told her. "And I must admit that I'm so charmed I'm likely to give you anything you ask for. But if you don't tell me what you want, I won't know to give it to you."

She clasped her hands behind her back and swayed like a nervous filly, an elfish nymph. "Well... I was wondering... if maybe... would you please..."

She took a deep breath.

"Would you maybe please paddle my bare behind?"

My whole body was tight. I forced myself to breathe. I stood and she watched me, eyes wide.

"Bare your bottom and bend over the couch. I shall attend you shortly."

I went to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. I drank it fast and poured another and drank it slow. I took several calming breaths and tried to get my body to relax.

When I came back, I found my elf without a stitch, draped over my couch, her freckled skin and auburn hair a threat to the steady beating of my heart. I'd meant her to bend over the arm of the couch, thrusting her bottom up for the paddling, but instead she'd lain upon its cushions. I'd have to kneel at her side to do the deed, but as I fetched my gifted paddle and did so, it felt intimate, and I decided she'd made the right choice. I put one hand on her back and she shivered. I rested the paddle on her naked nates and she whimpered.

I thought about giving her a chance to back out, to come to her senses.

Instead I bit my tongue.

I paddled her gently at first. Light smacks that raised pink splotches and little moaning cries. Almost like a game, nothing like a punishment. And I knew she wanted a punishment. I slowly increased the tempo, the impact, the intensity, mesmerized by the bounce of her bottom, the wiggle of her hips, the reddening of her perfect bouncing bottom. Her cries quickly became pained and shuddering as the paddling intensified. She squirmed and kicked, but did not try to get up or get away or put her hands back in defense. I think she'd have laid there forever had I demanded it of her.

When I'd worked up a fine sheen of sweat and a shortness of breath, I set my paddle on the floor and let my shoulder rest. My little neighbor girl cried into my couch cushions and I rubbed her bottom gently distinctly aware of the tightness of my loins and the heat of hers. After an interminable time, she sat up, not bothering to cover herself and I sat next to her and she shifted so that her legs were over my lap and she could rest her head on my shoulder. I encircled hers with one arm so we sat in an intimate embrace. Her cheeks were still wet, dampening my shoulder.

I rocked her gently, and soon her sobs turned to little groans of pleasure.

"Are you all right?"

She nodded and bit her lower lip. "Would it be okay if I used your shower?"

"Of course."

Remembering her modesty she covered her little pink nipples with one arm and her bright auburn curls with the other . And when she stood, she left a faint damp spot on the leg of my pants. She scurried to the bathroom and I watched her red bottom bounce along behind.

I went to the kitchen and poured myself a shot from the whisky I saved for special occasions.

I listened to the shower run a drumming, rushing beat. I pictured the girl glistening like she had in early autumn, emerging from the pool between our houses. I pictured her slender fingers parting the dimple between her lips and circling the nub gently. I pictured her leaning against the back of the shower, putting her red hot nates against the cold tile. I pictured her gasping from it and rubbing harder. I pictured the adorable way she bit her lower lip as her little groans of tension became full on groans of ecstasy. I pictured her back arch, her eyes squeeze closed, her skin shiver with goosebumps despite the heat of the shower.

I didn't notice the shower shut off and I was on my second drink when she appeared in the kitchen, wrapped in one of my towels, her auburn hair damp, her emerald eyes shining, her pert lips smiling.

"Thanks."

I nodded. "All right now?"

She blushed and nodded. "How about you?"

I cleared my throat and felt a blush creeping up my own cheeks. "Oh, I'm fine. Don't worry about me. Was it everything you thought it would be? The paddling I mean."

She giggled. "Well, it hurt more than I thought it would. But that's kind of what I wanted."

I smiled at her. "I'm happy I was able to give you what you wanted."

She nodded. "Can I borrow this towel for a little while?"

"I suppose, why?"

"I don't like to dress in the clothes I just wore after a shower, ya know?"

I shrugged. "Sure."

She gathered her things and I watched her through the window as she sprinted on bare feet in nothing but a towel across the winter-cold yard between our houses.

The girl's mother began stopping by my house every morning for a cup of tea and a quiet talk before she went to work. From time to time the subject of her daughter's discipline came up and she'd thank me again. I told her it was no problem and confessed to doing much more talking than spanking.

"She must listen to you. She certainly doesn't listen to me."

She would smile at me and sometimes she would put her hand on mine. And though it was obvious her daughter was a great beauty, I began to realize that the mother was not so homely as I'd originally thought. Though her hair was dun and eyes dull, she had the shapely figure of a woman and I appreciated that.

The girl continued to visit me in my office after school. Mostly we chatted genially about her day and her studies. Sometimes I helped her study. Sometimes she asked me to spank her. I didn't need to know the reason. I didn't feel one was warranted. All she had to do was ask and I would take her over my lap, bare her bottom, and spank her until I was done.

Sometimes she rewarded me with a kiss on the cheek. Sometime she asked me to walk her home. Sometimes she asked to use my shower.

Winter gave way to spring the way a reluctant child dose as her mother says. The snow melted but for patches here and there. Grass began to poke through and dandelions too. New leaves determinedly took their places on well-established trees. And as spring came, the girl's clothes got shorter and lighter. And though I'd seen her naked more than once, I couldn't deny the appeal of a short skirt or plunging neckline.

Then she asked me if she could open the pool. Of course I acquiesced. The sight of the nubile elf in a tiny two-piece, hair soaking, water beading on her shoulders back and hips, filled me with rare joy. She swam often after school, sometimes after I'd spanked her, and I'd watch from my office window.

It was when spring was in full force with flowers bloomed and birds chirping and the temperature rising to a pleasant degree that I was invited to dinner.

"I have some exciting news," the mother told us after we'd eaten the pasta she and her daughter had prepared. "I'm getting a promotion." She looked at me and rested her hand on mine. "I must thank you for the kindness you've shown us. You've been a fantastic landlord and almost like a father to my daughter. It pains me to say this, but we have to move."

"What?" shouted the girl. "But we can't! I just... I just got used to my school."

"Well, you can finish the semester, sweetie."

"No, I mean... I have friends now. I..." she looked at me and blushed. "I like it here. I'm getting good grades."

"Sweetie, we have to move. I'm getting a promotion and it's in another town. I'll be making more money, we can get our own house."

"No! I don't want to!" The girl screamed and pounded the table, rattling the plates.

I felt my eyes go wide.

The mother frowned at her daughter. "Behave yourself, young lady."

"No I won't!" she shouted, sounding young. She pounded the table and stood. "This isn't fair; you always do this to me. Just when I feel like I'm starting to get my feet under me, you jerk the rug out. I hate you!"

"That's enough." My voice was deep and authoritarian. "Apologize to your mother."

She glared at me. She'd never looked at me like that before.

"You can't tell me what to do."

I stood as well, slowly.

"I think I can. Apologize."

"Or else what?"

"I think you know."

"Don't you dare." She turned to storm off.

I was around the table in a snap and grabbed her by the arm. I tried to sit at the kitchen table to pull her over my lap, but she struggled. She pulled hard against me. I hadn't known she was so strong. Still, I was stronger. Rather than pull her over my lap, I pushed her down over the counter. Immediately her hands went to her bottom, but I grabbed both her wrists in one hand and pushed them against the small of her back.

She squealed.

I was relentless.

I held her down with one hand and tried to pull her jeans down with the other. The jeans were tight and did not budge. I had to reach around her waist and unsnap them; I jerked the zipper down roughly before I could bare her bottom, first her jeans, then her panties.

I spanked her hard. I'd spanked her hard before. I'd reddened her bottom in moments. But this was different. I was angry with her and she with me. Her cries were tinged with fury and frustration and humiliation and still I spanked her. I spanked her bottom and her thighs as bright red as ever I had with no sympathy for her tears or her shouts or her struggles.

When I was spent from it I let her go and she leapt to her feet, grasping at her pants, she sped to her room and slammed the door closed with a sobbing shriek of fury.

Breathing hard, I finally remembered her mother was still in the room. She looked at me with wide eyes.

I started to speak, but she forestalled me. "I'm sorry you had to do that. I know she can be quite the handful."

I cleared my throat uncomfortably. "Yes, well..."

She stood and held a hand out to me. "May I walk you home?"

We crossed the courtyard to my house and I invited her in for a cup of tea. We waited in silence for several minutes while the water heated. She put her hand on mine. She looked at me and bit her lower lip in the way her daughter so often did.

"It really is... that is I really am grateful. I will miss you when we move." She stepped closer, her hips not quite touching mine, her breasts barely brushing against my lower chest. She was shorter than I realized, and I had no doubt that if I wanted to, I could spank her as I'd spanked her daughter. 

The idea appealed.

I put my hands on her shoulders. "Your daughter behaved poorly this evening."

"I know. I'm sorry. Again, I appreciate..."

"What I'm saying is, her behavior is a reflection of your guidance."

She bit her lip again and looked up at me through her lashes. I wondered how old she was. Certainly not as old as me, but old enough to have a teenage daughter. Late twenties at the youngest. Surely no older than mid-thirties. Far too old to...

"Yes," she said. "I sometimes wonder if..."

I tightened my grip on her shoulders slightly and she gasped.

"Maybe I spanked the wrong girl tonight."

She shook her head and looked away.

I took her upper arm in one hand and walked her to my bedroom. She didn't struggle. I sat on my bed and pulled her down beside me. She sat with a squeak. She crossed her ankles shyly.

"Please," she said. "Please, I... I haven't been spanked in a long time."

"Perhaps that's the problem."

I pulled her down over my lap and she went willingly. I pulled up the skirt of her dowdy blue dress and she whimpered. I pulled her satin pink panties down her ample bottom and she shivered. I spanked her like I had spanked her daughter. Not like I had spanked her tonight but like I'd spanked her before: thoroughly, but not harshly, firmly but not meanly. It was a punishment of sorts but more than that it was an experience.

She yelped and squeaked and cried. She wiggled and kicked. She whimpered and shivered and a couple times she put her hand back to cover her bottom, so I neatly snagged her wrist and held her hand out of the way. I spanked her like she was a naughty little girl, and she didn't object. And when I was done she stood and, breathing hard and teary-eyed, she rubbed her bottom under her dress.

I watched her and she watched me.

Several moments later, she was pulling her dress off over her shoulders and kicking off her shoes and I shucked out of my pants and unbuttoned my shirt. I sat hard against my headboard, naked from the waist down as she crawled across my bed toward me. She straddled my hips with hers and I relished the weight of her. We fucked hard. It had been quite some time since I'd had such intimate company, but I found I wasn't out of practice. I held her hips as she rocked against me as her breasts swayed above me as she groaned loudly. I let her ride me as she chose, at her pace, until she cried out from it, pressing hard against me and squeezing.

I don't know how long the girl had been standing there, but as her mother went limp upon me and pressed her chest to mine, her head to my shoulder, I looked at the elf in my bedroom door, eyes wide, cheeks red, clad in a simple nightie that barely hid her. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and I knew, in a way, I had betrayed her.


End file.
